Instinct
by Margo Lamont
Summary: Something wakes Joan in the middle of the night. She knew something was wrong...


Something woke her up.

Joan glanced over at her alarm and saw that it was just past three in the morning. She propped herself on her elbows and glanced around the room.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

She looked in the direction of the door and nothing. No light in the hall peeking through the threshold, no muffled sounds coming from downstairs. Looked like Sherlock was asleep, _for once. _Joan held herself as still as she could, cocked her head slightly to the side and listened.

Silence.

Well, not exactly, for there really is no such thing as silence, is there? She heard a distant car alarm; the sharp hiss of far-away bus brakes; the soft, but particular sound of the wind hitting the brittle, hundred-year-old glass of her window; and the general creeks and groans of an old house settling.

But wait a minute, was that…? Did she hear Sherlock snoring? Joan strained her ears, and sure enough, she could just make out what must be quite robust snores, if they could travel the length of a hall and penetrate two closed doors.

Joan smiled and lay back down on her pillow. She wiggled around a bit, making herself a little cocoon with her comforter. Once everything was perfect, she closed her eyes with a soft sigh and -

There was a distinct creek of a wooden floorboard right outside her door.

Joan's eyes shot open, her body and mind instantly on high alert. That wasn't a normal sound. She was sure of it. She's been at the brownstone long enough to recognize the regular sounds of the old house settling, and that creek was definitely _not _part of the series_._

As quietly and carefully as she could, she slowly got out of bed. She briefly contemplated calling or texting Sherlock, but…What if the intruder heard her? Sherlock's alright, she could still hear him snoring. What if all she did is alert the criminal and give them the upper hand? Surely it would be better to have the element of surprise?

Joan tip-toed quietly to the door, grabbing a heavy, decorative bowl that sat on a chest of drawers along the wall. She avoided all the areas of her floor that she knew would creek and give her away. She steadied herself only for a moment, lifting the bowl above her head, before she quickly grabbed the knob and swung open the door.

"Oh, my God! Sherlock!" Joan flicked on the light to her room.

Sherlock Holmes was on his knees before her door, a pool of thin wire in one hand, and pliers in the other. He blinked up at her, slightly taken-aback with her sudden appearance, for he obviously did not hear her approach the door. He glanced down at the objects in his hand and then back up at her, his grey eyes flickering to the weapon she held. To his credit, he had the decency to look a little sheepish. "Ah, Watson. Good morning."

Joan let out a little growl. "I thought we were past the booby traps."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "One can never have too much practice, Watson, especially a detective-in-training such as yourself. I find that -"

"Wait, what's that sound?"

" - the state of constant vigilance -"

"Where are those snores coming from?"

" - can only be attained by - "

Joan pushed the bowl into his chest, stepped around him and walked the short distance down the hall to his bedroom. She poked her head in and looked around. She saw Clyde slowly crawling along the far wall, and having come across an obstacle in the form of a tossed sweater, he slowly started making his way around it. But Joan's attention was soon caught by an old tape deck sitting innocently on a stool by Sherlock's bed, and coming from it were the loud, now-obnoxious snores.

Joan turned back to the man in the hall and gave him an exasperated look. "Did you really tape yourself snoring just so you can do this?"

"That is _a _tape of _someone _snoring," he replied, getting up and dusting off his pyjama-clad knees. "Which I already happened to have in my possession."

"Right."

"What alerted you to my presence?" Sherlock placed his items in her bowl and stood with it under one arm, gazing at her with his full attention.

"I - I don't know, something woke me up," Joan stated. After no movement from him, she tried to elaborate. "I can't really rationalize it, but something felt… off."

"Try to explain with as much detail as possible."

Joan let out a huff. "I don't know what _actually _woke me. But there was no light and I heard your 'snores'-" she gave him a look - "and I thought you were asleep. Then I heard the floor creek and it didn't sound normal. I thought someone broke in. And now I'm going back to bed, and there better not be any wires in or around my door. Seriously."

Joan stepped into her room and turned to close the door. Sherlock's eyes had followed her and when she looked up to wish him good night and to get some _sleep, _he was gazing at her with a curious look on his face.

"What is it?" she asked.

He took a step forward. "I'm pleased to see that my deduction concerning you continues to be correct."

He held her gaze for a moment. His eyes took that peculiar, almost teary look, and she knew he was about to say something that was difficult for him to utter, but was heartfelt and honest.

"I am… proud of your progress, Watson," he stated softly.

Joan knew it was silly, but she couldn't help it. She felt her chest swell with the complement, and she couldn't stop the delighted smile from crossing her face.

"Your choice of weapon, however -" here he indicated her bowl - "leaves much to be desired. Do you not have a pistol? Oh, wait. Yes you do. I gave you one."

Joan rolled her eyes. "Good night, Sherlock."

"Hmm, why have we been going to the gun range, I wonder?"

"Good night."

Joan closed the door, the smile wide on her face. She was glad that his deduction was correct, too. For the first time since her malpractice (and even before then, if she were perfectly honest with herself) Joan felt fulfilled. She had finally found her true calling in life. She had found something that she _knew _she was meant to do.

Joan heard the sound of Sherlock descending the stairs and shook her head.

She also knew that this brilliant, amazing, insufferable man was remarkably quickly becoming so very dear to her. And she _knew _that no matter what happens, no matter the danger they have to face, she would, without question, follow him anywhere.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed my first _Elementary _story. Thank you for reading.**


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